


Bedroom Eyes (Blurry Vision)

by languisity



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Kink, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2013-04-12
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/languisity/pseuds/languisity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It keeps happening, but it's nothing serious or planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedroom Eyes (Blurry Vision)

**Author's Note:**

> (Archiving.)
> 
>  
> 
> Let's pretend this happened sometime where they were all sharing one bus. And that the order of their locations makes sense. Also, uhm, thanks to all of the people I spammed with while I was writing this and after and, yeah. Thank you. That title is kind of stolen from a Veruca Salt song, by the way.

1.

At a quarter 'til one in a better-than-nothing hotel somewhere in Virginia, Pete pushes Patrick up against the door of their shared hotel room and jerks him off.

The room smells like rain and mildew, stale air and sweat, and when Patrick comes hot and sticky between them, Pete pushes his face into the side of Patrick's neck and just breathes. He feels dizzy, his head spinning, and when he pulls away enough to wipe his hand off on Patrick's shirt, he's shaking.

Pete's all frantic energy after that, kissing Patrick's face and fumbling to get his own jeans undone and shoved down. He makes a grab for Patrick's hand-- the other one that hasn't found itself tangled in the back of Pete's hair-- and guides it to his dick. Patrick just lets him, he doesn't always just let Pete do anything but this time he does, and  
Pete moans when Patrick touches him.

Patrick gets in a few quick, firm strokes before he stops, and Pete whimpers.

"Can you wait?" Patrick asks, and Pete can't match up the words with Patrick. It's oddly incongruent, the sound of Patrick's calm, quiet voice and Patrick's hand curled firmly around Pete's dick.

Pete presses in closer, pushes up into Patrick's fist trying for friction, licks at Patrick's lips.

"What? Can I. What?" He tries to laugh but it comes out desperate and thin.

Patrick doesn't laugh or smile, just squeezes his hand around Pete, keeping his gaze steady on Pete's face. "Can you wait?"

And the thing about it is, even though Pete is literally aching to come, he feels like he could. He feels like Patrick just asking means that he can, so he nods a little, and mumbles, "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Yeah. Just make it worth my while," as he knocks Patrick's hand away.

He pulls his jeans up, biting hard at his bottom lip, and he doesn't look up but he's pretty sure Patrick is smirking.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say," Patrick says, and sounds like he means anything but that.

 

 

2.

It keeps happening, but it's nothing serious or planned.

This time they're at a hotel somewhere in Massachusetts when kissing turns into groping and groping turns into both of them being two seconds away from coming in their jeans.

Patrick whispers, "Wait?" in Pete's ear, breathless.

It's always a question, a its strongest a suggestion. Pete wonders about that sometimes, but as soon as he says 'yes,' it's like it's locked in. ( _Is that your final answer? No take backs._ ) And Pete always says 'yes.'

Patrick pushes and shoves at Pete until he can slide out of the bunk and then grope around for his glasses. His hat, if a bit askew, is still in place. He looks like a kid that's been crammed in a tight spot making out with someone, which Pete finds equal parts hot and hilarious.

Patrick licks his lips and looks away, trying to adjust himself as inconspicuously as possible. Pete laughs outright at that, but Patrick ignores him and continues in his efforts to tug his clothes straight.

"You wanna watch a movie or something? I think Joe said something about a Freddie Prince Jr. extravaganza."

"I'm good," Pete says, and he mostly means it. "See you later alligator."

"In a while crocodile," Patrick calls back automatically, like he doesn't even know he's doing it, and shuts the door that leads to the common area behind him as he leaves.

Joe yells something about I Know What You Did Last Summer being a classic in the realm of D grade horror movies, and Pete closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

 

 

3.

Sometimes Pete likes to compare experiences. They're distinctly nonsexual at first. He thinks of being in time out when he was a kid because he got too out of hand, except that's wrong; this thing with Patrick is nothing like being punished. He thinks of Christmas eve, a room full of presents that he can't have, not yet, and that's closer. But the thing that hits the nail on the head is thinking of being sixteen again-- heartsick, lovesick, sick in the head.

That's what it feels like to him. Passing notes and kissing and build up, shaky hands sneaking under clothes, slick lips and quick breaths between kisses. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

This time, when Patrick leaves Pete hard and gasping while the bus is cruising just past the sign that welcomes them to New Hampshire, Pete knows what to expect. There's a lazy, familiar ache that clenches at the center of his chest, but it's a good kind of ache. It's something he wants to revel in a little longer.

It's something he wants to thank Patrick for helping him remember.

 

 

4.

Pete knows Patrick. He knows the most perfect and ugliest parts of him as well as he knows himself.

At least, he thought he did. Lately everything's mixed up and Pete's starting to feel wholly out of his depth. It's scary in a way he couldn't describe if his life depended on it.

Everything is still the same on the surface. They make the same lame inside jokes and Patrick still leans too heavily against Pete's side when he's tired and can't help it. Pete still tells the same stupid stories and Patrick laughs when he's endeared and rolls his eyes when he's trying not to be.

Everything is exactly the same, except for how Pete's brain keeps overlaying friend-Patrick with the one that jerks off in front of him and won't let Pete touch himself.

Pete rubs hard at his eyes and tries to focus on the Patrick in front of him. They're in an IHOP, and Pete's got a stack of pancakes that he still hasn't touched yet. He's pretty sure he's hungry, but he can't make himself eat.

Someone kicks him. It comes from his left side where Joe's sitting, but Pete still looks up at Patrick first.

Joe doesn't say anything when Pete finally focuses on him, just gives Pete an "are you okay there, space cadet?" look, and Pete tries out a smile in response. Andy is turned in to Patrick mumbling something that Pete can't hear and picking at a fake chicken sandwhich he brought in from somewhere else. Neither of the others seem to notice, but Pete feels caught out anyway.

"So hey," he says, pulling out all of the little pots of syrup, feeling like he's been quiet for too long. "What do you think all of these taste like together?"

"A diabetic coma," Patrick mumbles around a mouthful of french toast.

He's still the one that drinks it all, though, when Pete pours all four syrups, enough to equal about a shot glass's worth, into Patrick's empty cup.

He watches Patrick drink down the mix, paying close attention to how Patrick's eyes squint shut and the way his throat moves as he swallows.

Patrick slams the cup down when he's done. Pete jumps and tries to cover it with a laugh.

"Just when I think I know you..." Pete says, letting the sentence trail off.

Patrick just grins.

 

 

5.

Nothing good ever happens in Jersey. Plenty of good things come out of it, like Mikey Way and people who could defend Pete's honor in a knife fight, but nothing good actually happens there.

It's entirely possible Pete's a little biased, though, because that's just where they happen to be while he's feeling shittier than he has in a long while.

He hasn't gotten off in what feels like a century, and it's making him too aware of everything. The bus is too small or he's too big for it or both. His skin feels too tight. When the others laugh or talk or breathe, it's all too loud and wrong.

Pete's been broadcasting "asshole" for the better part of two days, and Patrick is the only one who doesn't seem to notice. Pete wishes he would.

"Gimme that," Pete says, gesturing lazily at a box of poptarts that have made their way to the lounge.

Patrick doesn't look up from the newspaper he's skimming, just mumbles, "Wait a second," and Pete can't breathe for the longest moment. Can't breathe, can't move, can't think until all of a sudden he's angry. He's pissed the fuck off, and he doesn't know why but he's sure it's Patrick's fault.

Pete feels his heartbeat pick up, and there's a rush of adrenaline that has him shaking all over. He curls his hands into fists and says, voice tight, "Give me the fucking poptarts."

He knows it sounds ridiculous as soon as he says it, and the look Patrick gives him from over the top of the newspaper only confirms it.

Patrick sits up and gets a pack of poptarts for himself. He says, "You could get it yourself," over the sound of the wrapper crinkling.

"That's not the point," Pete snaps back, and it's true even if Pete isn't sure what the point is supposed to be.

"Yeah," Patrick says easily, "it kind of is," and before Pete can say anything else, Patrick's getting up and walking away to be somewhere Pete isn't.

 

 

6.

At a hotel in Wisconsin, Pete switches keys with Joe so that he's rooming with Patrick, and jerks off with his back pressed against the bathroom door while Patrick's taking a shower. Or Pete tries to anyway, but he can't. There's this sort of overwhelming sense of wrongness that smacks into him the second he touches himself.

He feels guilty, and then angry with himself for feeling guilty.

So Pete doesn't actually get off, but he moans as loud as he can and tries not to think of how Patrick is wet and naked and only a few feet away.

He's still half hard by the time he hears Patrick turn the water off. Pete scrambles up and away from the door, throwing himself onto one of the beds a minute or so before Patrick finally emerges from the bathroom along with a plume of steam. It's kind of accidentally dramatic, and Pete would laugh if he weren't struck by how much he wanted Patrick, always, but especially now when he's all shower-pink cheeks, damp hair and too-long pajama pants. He glances at Pete and doesn't seem at all surprised to see him on the other bed instead of Joe which makes sense, but it makes Pete feel a little disappointed and stupid anyway.

Patrick putters around for a few minutes, putting things away or taking them out. Pete isn't really paying attention, so he almost misses it when Patrick says, "They have that bubble bath stuff you like."

It's the first thing he's said to Pete outside the bare minimum since Pete projected his sexual frustration on his apparently equally intense desire for a cherry poptart.

It takes Pete a moment to find his voice, and when he does it's steadier than he expected it to be.

"Thanks, mom."

Patrick looks up at Pete for a long moment, his gaze sharp and serious, until Pete has to look away first.

He says, "Well, yeah. What would you do without me?" and turns out the lamp closest to his bed. He rubs at his hair once, twice, then climbs under the covers.

Pete doesn't know what to make of that, or anything else, so he gets up and goes to the bathroom himself. He isn't hard anymore, but he still feels keyed up, like his body's waiting for just one stiff breeze and he'd be ready to go.

This, Pete remembers, is why no one ever misses being sixteen. Not really.

He isn't in the mood for washing up properly, so Pete rinses his face off a few times and heads back out. He changes right there in front of Patrick and is all too aware of how he isn't being watched.

 

 

7.

In Indiana, they make up officially. Though really, it's more like Pete crawling into Patrick's bunk and not getting kicked out. That's usually as official as most things get with them.

To his credit, Pete tries to apologize.

He whispers, "Sorry, 'M sorry," against the back of Patrick's neck, keeping his arms tucked in to his chest between them.

Patrick goes tense but then relaxes, and Pete feels a tightness in his chest ease.

Patrick whispers back, "Don't."

And that's it. That's all.

 

 

8.

"So, what?" Pete asks, muffled in the crook of Patrick's neck. "We're not gonna-- gonna talk about this?"

"You wanna talk? Now?" Patrick says, and doesn't sound half as flustered as Pete feels. He sounds like he's laughing, actually. "Okay, fine."

Patrick pulls his hands from the back pockets of Pete's jeans. He tries to step away, but Pete clings tighter.

"No. No, no, no. Just let me. God, please, let me just."

And just like that, Pete doesn't know how to finish that statement. He wants everything and doesn't know how to ask for any of it.

"Touch me, touch me, please," Pete says in a rush, pushing his face into Patrick's neck tighter and licking at the skin there.

Pete can't breathe, and he thinks it's because they're in Colorado. Colorado is made of dust. Dust and red clay that gets everywhere. He even thinks he can taste it on Patrick's skin.

Patrick makes a hushing noise and pats lightly at Pete's back, working the other between them to get Pete's jeans undone. "You're okay," he says, "I'm here. You're all right. Breathe."

Pete sucks in a breath, then another, and a third until he feels less like his lungs are on fire.

Patrick coos, "Good. See? You're fine," low and deep and the most confusing mix of hot and soothing. He gets his hand in Pete's underwear, palm curled tight and warm around Pete's dick, and Pete keens.

It's a stupid amount of sensation- Patrick's smell, his hands on Pete, his voice in Pete's ear- and Pete barely lasts four strokes before he's coming, panting and clinging so hard his knuckles start to ache.

He's still saying, "Please, please, I want," over and over, a tangled mess of words that Patrick tries to soothe him through.

"Me, too," Patrick says, sounding a little breathless, like he knows what Pete's trying to say. He's moving, shifting to get his hand on his own dick without trying to jostle Pete too much.

He asks, "Gonna let me fuck you?" soft and breathy as he jerks himself off, and manages a laugh when all Pete can think of to say in response is, "How long are you willing to wait?"


End file.
